


chance encounters

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn Without Plot, gratuitious jaqen smut, older!Arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter comes for Arya Stark in the form of a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chance encounters

The winter is going badly, Arya thinks. She swings another cup of ale to her mouth and lets the warm liquid sear its way down her throat. Drunken men talk loudly at one of the tables adjacent to hers, their voices hoarse and crude.

 

“Aye, I saw what I saw, and it was…it was…a dragon! Bless my soul it was the evilest thing I ever saw!” A bit of the liquor spills down her leather, despite doing her best not to laugh. _What a sodding bunch of idiots_. No dragons had been sighted for years, save for rumors, which Arya had no time for.

 

She finds herself wondering why she really came to this particular inn, at this particular hour, with the sun just setting behind ominously grey clouds.

She wonders whether the man who gave her the silver coin would really come, when a memory sparks in her mind: dark promises made in the night, beneath a dying godswood.

But remembering does her no good, so Arya finishes her drink and retires to her shabby room, thankful that the warmth was keeping out the freezing wind outside.

 

Slipping beneath the woolen sheets, she utters a prayer to gods who weren’t there, and probably never were.

 

* * *

 

He comes in the dead of night, when the candles had almost melted upon themselves.

 

“How did you know I was here?” There is a lilt in Arya’s voice that she cannot keep, her heart beating wildly. “A girl has grown into quite the she-wolf,” Jaqen says, then smiles that familiar lopsided smile, his eyes shining with delight. “And a girl is not hard to find, given that a man wants to find her.”

 

She stands and crosses her arms, trying to hide the hammering heart in her chest as he approaches ever so slowly. “Spare me the accent, Jaqen. We are long past these games.”

 

“Ah, but a girl loves it so. The thrill of the hunt will always run deep in her veins.”

 

And he suddenly grips her neck, tilting it to the side. “She loves it, especially when a prey has surrendered to her will, completely.” His hand feels pleasantly warm against her skin, while the other finds its way beneath her rough chemise.

 

Not about to let a man best her in bed, she puts a hand on his cheek and lowers it to her throat, letting his teeth nip and bite and tease. They are both deadly predators but only one could win in such a game. She is determined to make him hers by the end of this passion-play.

 

“Perhaps I will indulge you," she whispers, "if you are a worthy prey.” Arya slips a hand down to his belt, loosens the heavy thing and tosses it aside. He grasps at his boots and slips them off.

 

Jaqen grins and places a tender kiss on her neck. He lifts his head from her neck and his lips are upon hers and everything is blurry and desperate as they fall onto the bed, its mattress squeaking beneath the sudden weight. She gasps when she feels his thumb graze her nipple, gently encircling it around the aching nub. Arya bites her lip and waits, unbidden moans rising to her mouth. Jaqen reaches down the other hand and tears her chemise apart, the thin fabric sliding against her heated skin.

 

He lowers his head and takes one into his mouth, his tongue wet and warm. She grips the sheets and lets out a pleased moan, the pleasure ricocheting off her mouth. He grabs her arms and pins them securely above her head, and rubs his clothed cock against her loins, all bare. She does not recall losing her underclothes so suddenly.

 

Jaqen chuckles and whispers in her ear. “A girl is _very_ wet, it seems.”

 

She tries moving her trapped arms, but useless, under his muscled arms. "I am no girl." She clasps her thighs around his waist, and it is his turn to weaken, lifting his hold from her arms. She reaches for his trousers, yanks them down roughly, and smiles.

 

He sits back and gazes at her, eyes hungrily taking in every curve of her body. Arya watches him and tries to guess what he is thinking. She is riddled with scars, he is not. He will always be a ghost, and she will always live like one. Jaqen traces a jagged scar beneath her left breast with his thumb and whispers, "a woman, then."

 

Jaqen leans in and presses a kiss to her navel, then ventures downwards. Arya's fingers tighten in his hair as she spreads her legs. He slides his tongue against the slit of her cunt, and her toes curl.

 

She grabs onto his hair as if the world would crumble to pieces if he moved his mouth away. He probes repeatedly at the nub nestled between her folds, sliding his tongue along her slit, the pleasure enough to make her mind go blissfully blank. Agonizingly slow, he licks down the wet entrance, the tip of his tongue lapping what spot it could reach, her little moans making him harder than he thought possible.

 

He brings down his hand and pushes a finger inside, thrusting it in and out repeatedly, as he licks at her clit. He curls his finger and her back arches. Then he adds another one, pumping furiously. The force of her climax hits her so fast that she could only grit her teeth as he buries his fingers deep inside, reaching a delicious spot there.

 

Arya sighs contentedly as he withdraws, and wraps her legs around his hips.

 

And then he thrusts into her, burying himself deep in her cunt, and she screams and scratches at his hands that are securing her hips, allowing no movement at all.

 

“This is what...a woman...wants, yes?” He breathes as he fucks her with sheer force, the wood banging against the walls and the bed creaking as their ministrations cover them with sweat.

 

 _Oh, gods._ The words are a mess in her head, crumbling into dust with each push of his hips, his cock hot and hard and all flesh, hitting all the right places she didn’t even know she had. As if it wasn’t enough, he releases one of his hands from her hips and gently rubs her clit, the rush of sensation more than enough to drive her mad. He lets her legs drop and leans into her feverish body, ravishes her neck and the gentle curves of her breasts.

 

The things he whisper makes her grab his face and kiss his full, warm lips. She could taste summer in his mouth, flavors reminiscent of the spices across the Narrow Sea sharp on his tongue. Her heart clenches on itself. She reminds herself that those memories don't belong to her anymore.

 

Jaqen lowers his mouth to her neck and nips where her pulse was hammering. Another rough thrust is all that makes her fall over the edge, and she moans his name now as she comes. She digs her nails in his back as she spasms around his cock, her chest heaving at her second climax. Jaqen continues to still thrust into her, his brows creasing as he neared his own end. And then she feels him come, warm and thick inside her as he utters foreign words she cannot understand, his voice twisted in ecstasy. He looks at her, then, and she shivers beneath his hungry gaze.

 

* * *

 

Arya watches him rearrange himself into order. He brushes his hair with his hands, puts on the thick winter clothes that would cover his bruised and marked skin – a courtesy of hers, of course. They will stay for weeks, surely, and she smiles at the thought of them reminding him of what they had done.

 

She leans lazily on her palm. Her body feels pleasantly sore beneath the sheets.

 

“A man is leaving?”

 

He opens the window to the white dawn, snowflakes drifting freely into her room. She pulls the ragged blanket to her chin.

 

“A woman has gotten what she wanted.” He seems sad, almost.

 

"Jaqen," she says softly, and there's a desperation in her that she can't quite hold back. "Will I see you again?”

 

Jaqen H’ghar stills for a moment, but does not answer.

 

He leaps down the windowsill and disappears in the frigid winter. Arya closes her eyes and lets the window stay wide open, despite the cold.


End file.
